


The Four Innocents: Cruising out of Control

by Azalea542



Series: The Four Innocents [6]
Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: 1960's, Alternate Universe - Earth, Gen, Male Friendship, friendship better than romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 01:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea542/pseuds/Azalea542
Summary: Six short short stories featuring revelations for Danny, dilemmas for Timmy, and Matt and Patrick forced to be "rivals" in a guitar contest.





	1. La Señorita

La Señorita:

I

The Wellingtons had given the Four Innocents a break in more ways than one. Not only had they given them a two week gig, but it was also a working vacation, for the gig was on board their cruise ship, the _Majestic Mermaid_.

They were now in the midst of week number two, which retraced the steps of the first weeks' itinerary. Tomorrow, they would dock at Las Burbujas.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Timmy?" Danny asked, as the boys stood in line for excursion tickets. "Cliff diving seems like something you'd really be into."

"Nah, sorry, fellas, not this time. Besides, I still want to try to find a record shop. Some of those alternative covers they have for Consorts and Waikiki albums are really cool."

"Okay, Timmy," Matt said. "There's no other tours you want to go on?"

"No, I'm just going to look at all the _tiendas_."

"What?" Patrick asked.

"Stores," Danny informed him.

"Everyone going on the Cliff Divers and Lunch excursion please meet in the Horizon Lounge now," the intercom announcer requested the next morning.

Matt slung his camera around his neck, and he, Danny, and Patrick rose to their feet. "See ya, Timmy."

Timmy still lay in his bunk, his eyes closed. "Okay, fellas." He yawned. " _Hasta la vista_."

"You better get up soon or you'll sleep all day," Patrick warned.

"Then you won't be able to shop," Danny chimed in.

"All right," Timmy agreed reluctantly, sitting up and banging his head on the ceiling. "Yoww!"

"You know, I'm really glad I didn't argue for one of the top bunks," Matt remarked.

II

Timmy rode a tender to the shore, then looked over the array of shops in the tourist section of Las Burbujas. So many of them to choose from, yet probably none carried albums. For that, he might have to wander out of the area, into parts of the city that might not necessarily cater to foreigners like him. If he was desperate, he could ask, hoping one of the English speaking store clerks would be able to help him. If not, he had translated his question into _"¿Dónde está una tienda de musica?_ " He wasn't certain, however, that he'd be able to understand the answer. 

As he walked on, Timmy drunk in the sights and sounds of the foreign culture. At the pier, two young boys and their dog leaped for coins thrown into the water by tourists, and then they shouted for more. A whole family of three, including a small girl, rode by on one little motorbike. A swarthy taxi cab driver, the windows of his cab rolled fully down, escorted a couple from the cruise ship to their choice of destinations. An iguana tried to hide itself in the camouflage provided by tree leaves. All that was missing was a beautiful, ethnic maiden.

It was late in the afternoon, and Timmy had been window shopping all day. A shop that looked like it carried a wide variety of souvenirs caught Timmy's eye, and though he was positive that it would contain no records, it might entertain his interest in Mexican culture. There were albums, Timmy discovered, but not foreign editions of American or British hits. But being also a collector of music of the world, Timmy browsed through the selection of Latin American music.

After a moment, he became aware that someone was watching him. He turned to the side to see a pretty native girl standing beside him. She wore her hair in a ponytail, and her bronzed skin was not much lighter than her brunette hair. Probably a sales clerk, Timmy figured. " _Hola_ ," he greeted shyly.

She smiled, enigmatic but friendly, and then returned the greeting with words that Timmy did not understand.

" _¿Qué?_ " he asked.

She repeated the phrase, but Timmy could not pick out any words he recognized. So he just smiled back at her.

She was adorned in one of those colorful dresses he found so attractive. This one was white, with red trimmings, and embroidered flowers of varying pigments graced the edges. She wore the sleeves slightly pulled down, allowing a glimpse of her shoulders. She continued to look at him, so Timmy decided to make small talk as best as he could, and compliment her apparel. "Um, _su vestido es bonito_."

She giggled, and Timmy saw her dusky eyes brighten. " _Gracias, Señor_."

"Timmy," he said, not wishing to be addressed as "sir" or "mister". " _Me llamo esta Timmy._ "

“ _¿Timoteo?_"

He shrugged. "Sure, Timoteo, if that's what you prefer. _¿Qué es su nombre, señorita?_ "

"Rosita," she answered.

"Rosita," he acknowledged. It meant "little rose". He was tense about revealing just how poor his Spanish was, so he turned back to English. "Uh, do you know if there's a shop nearby that sells rock'n'roll records?"

"¿Qué?"

"Do you speak English?"

" _No hablo inglés._ " She laughed timidly. " _Lo siento._ "

"That's okay. I don't speak much Spanish, either." He decided it was time to move on. Being as he spoke little Spanish, and she probably knew very few words in English, this conversation could not go much further. " _Adios._ "

" _¿Adios?_ " She sounded hurt.

Timmy didn't know what else to do, so he just shrugged again and smiled.

She seemed to accept his unspoken apology. "Bye-bye," she said, laughing at the English words as she heard them coming from her own mouth.

Timmy grinned. "Bye-bye."

She enjoyed the sound of that phrase. "Bye-bye," she said again. She waved. "Bye-bye."

Walking out of the shop, Timmy reflected upon how Rosita reminded him uncannily of one of his girls of the world figurines.

Then he noticed a sign that read "tourist information". Hoping that the office would be able to provide a lead in his quest, he headed inside.

"I'm looking for a shop that sells records."

"I don't know of any shop nearby that specializes in records," the man at the desk said. "But many carry albums of mariachi music and other music associated with Mexico."

"No, I really need to know where to find a record store," Timmy insisted. "One that carries rock'n'roll albums. You see, I've seen pictures of the alternative covers they have from the ones put out in the States, and I'd really like to find some."

The man was silent for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Ah, wait a moment! I just remembered a place you can walk to from here."

After Timmy left the shop, unnoticed by him, Rosita walked in. " _¿Dónde está el va?_ " she asked.

III

Timmy, unsure of himself, glanced around warily as he walked further away from the relative familiarity of the tourist section and more into the parts of the city in which he was less likely to find people willing to cater to his sight-seeing needs.

The hairs rose on the back of his neck. Again, that feeling that someone was watching him, this time following him as well. He looked back, and smiled. It was Rosita. She smiled back and ran up to him. Cheerfully, she strung off a couple of sentences, and Timmy managed to get the idea she was going to guide him to the music store.

" _Aquí esta_ ," she said, and the two walked in.

A bit disappointed, but trying to not let it get him down, Timmy exited the shop, Rosita following at his heels. "Ah, I didn't know what I was expecting."

"¿ _No los quieres?_ ”

"Nothing there I really needed. _Nada_ ," he said. "But it was cool looking around."

" _¿Dónde estás ahora?_ "

Where are you going now? He didn't know. A rumble in his stomach told him supper would be a good idea. " _Tengo hambre_ ," he told her.

Her face lit up. "Oh! _Venemos a mi restaurante favorito._ " She stepped ahead of him, eagerly leading the way. "Come on," she said.

IV

Late that night, Timmy met his friends back at the dock. "It was really neat, Timmy," Matt said. "You would've liked it."

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Danny wondered.

"No. But you won't believe all the things I did today."

Patrick raised a curious eyebrow. "What?"

Timmy smiled dreamily. "We went to a lovely little outdoor restaurant where we dined and danced under the stars, and I ate a tasty dish called _mole poblano_ \--it's turkey with chocolate and dozens of other stuff--"

"We?" Danny interrupted.

"Yeah, who's we?" Matt demanded.

"Why, Rosita and I," Timmy replied matter-of-factly.

"I didn't know you danced with chicks," Danny remarked.

"Only on that rare occasion. And this was one. Then we walked along the beach, and she sang a song, the most beautiful song..."

"The Mexican Riviera's gone to your head," Danny commented. "It's turning you into a romantic. So then what you do? You kiss her?"

"No!" Timmy insisted. "Besides, it's not proper in Mexico. I sang her one of our numbers. Then we went back to the shops and I bought this album." He took it out of his bag to show them. "It ends up she's a singer, at least locally. This is her, fellas, and I'd much rather have this than a Consorts' album I already have."

Danny feigned anguish. "Oh, Matt! We've lost him! Bring him on a cruise and he elopes with a Mexican señorita."

Timmy rolled his eyes. "Nothing like that. Like I said, I didn't even kiss her." He thought back. "You know, from what I've read--well, generalizations anyway--she's more forward than you might expect a young Mexican girl to be. But there's no doubt in my mind that that was just playfulness, and that she's an innocent through and through."

"We better board the tender," Matt said. "We don't want to miss the boat."

They got on the craft, and as it pulled away from shore, Timmy looked back. He could see Rosita watching, but this time she could not follow. He waved, hoping she could pick him out from among the passengers, but she just turned away.

Timmy sighed, and pulled out her album. It included in its liner notes the lyrics in both Spanish and English. Timmy found the number she had sang on the beach. In his language it was called "For Always".

"Though we only met just briefly

It's like I've known you forever

And though you're gone

You will remain in my heart

_Para siempre_."

“Do you love her?” Danny asked, coming up behind him.

“I dunno,” Timmy mumbled. “We just met.”

“It just seems like you and her are sweethearts.”

Timmy raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Danny, I’m going with you and the fellas. I’m not staying behind with her in Mexico. And I’m not smuggling her aboard so she can live in California.”

“Don’t worry, mate. I’m not uptight. It just seems like you had a romantic day, that’s all.” Danny shrugged and walked away.

Timmy stared back at the shore, but he could no longer see Rosita. It _had_ been a romantic day, he reflected. Strolls and dances and smiles and blushes. But no sex—not even any kissing. No legal or moral ties to bind him. Just the memory of a sweet ethnic girl to keep as a souvenir. In Timmy’s mind, that made it the perfect romance.

It had been a good day.


	2. Here's to the Heirs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is loosely based on The Monkees episode "The Monkees Mind Their Manor" by Coslough Johnson.

HERE’S TO THE HEIRS

Matt, Timmy, and Patrick sat out back, watching the waves crash to shore. “You know, this is nice and all,” Timmy opined. “But someday I’d like to really get away. Go some place far, far away.”

“Well, maybe when we’re on tour,” Matt said encouragingly.

“I want to go to Antartica,” Patrick said.

“Are you kidding? You’ll freeze to death in three seconds,” Timmy pointed out.

“Well, I’d still like to go anyway, “ the boy insisted.

Danny ran out back. “Hey, fellas, you’ll never guess where we’re going!” He held papers in his hand.

“To the grocery store?” Timmy asked.

“No, silly, to England!”

“England!” Matt exclaimed. “You must be joking!”

“No, I’m not,” Danny insisted, sitting down amongst them. “Jack sent me tickets for all of us.”

“But why?” Timmy wondered.

“He said he’s made a discovery.”

“Which is?” Matt prompted.

“I don’t know, but I want to find out. And show you fellas where I grew up.”

“Why do we have to go, too?” Patrick wondered.

“I don’t know, but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Timmy warned.

“Oh, we’ll be horseback riding there?” Patrick inquired.

“Oh, yeah, there’s plenty of horses at Jack’s stable,” Danny informed him.

"I told him if he wanted to come back to Britain, he was going to have to make it on his own," Donna fretted, as she waited for the passengers to disembark from the plane. Also at the airport were Debby, Lord Sheehan, and Denis Jared. "I just know he's going to make remarks about it."

"Oh, don't worry so," Mr. Sheehan chided. "You meant on his own only if he had given up on America and wanted to come back here to live. You didn't mean a visit for a special occasion. And since he goes nowhere without his bandmates, I had to offer to pay for all four's airfare," Mr. Sheehan added. "I told them I couldn't afford to be doing things like that back when Danny was graduated, but I guess I’ve changed my mind.”

Debby noticed a quartet of long-haired young men walk down the exit staircase. "Ah, the fabulous foursome arrives to take England by storm."

Handshakes were passed around, Donna reluctantly smiling and joining in. There was a certain twinkle in their eyes when Matt and Debby shook hands. _I feel like I already know her, the sun in her eyes, the highlights in her hair,_ Matt mused, then chided himself, _Oh, shut up!_ He turned to shake hands with Denis. _At least she’s not a bitch like Donna._

They arrived shortly thereafter at Lord Sheehan’s half-timbered manor house. Noticing his three bandmates’ wide-eyed, jaw-dropped expressions, Danny chided, “Now, come off it, fellas. It’s just a big house, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick inquired.

“Yeah, what else could it be? A secret base for nuclear weapons?”

Taking Danny seriously, Patrick apologized. “Oh, no, Danny, I would never think that of your family.”

“Actually, we don’t live here,” Danny said as he got out of the limousine. “Jack’s our friend.”

“Actually, we do live here,” Donna said as she stepped out of another car. “And Jack’s our grandfather.”

Danny keeled over backwards and was caught by Patrick.

“You must remember me talking about Victoria, the maid I married when I was younger,” Jack said, as the whole group sat in the sitting room, done up with antique furniture, but with a bright air to it. “The poor woman—she was kidnapped and raped. After that, she couldn’t deal with the shame. She ran away. She had a baby and named him Andrew Selwyn, Selwyn meaning ‘friend from the manor’, and put him in an orphanage. She didn’t know if it was my baby or her attacker’s.”

“So, how’d you figure out it was our pop?” Danny asked.

“Debby, go stand by the portrait over there,” Jack said. Debby got up and stood next to a 19th century portrait of a Sheehan ancestor. The resemblance was striking. “And that’s not the only painting we have that looks like the Selwyn brood.”

“Yeah, that’s true—there’s that picture of the bird who looks like Donna,” Danny recalled.

“What’s birds got to do with this?” Patrick wondered.

“What happened to Victoria?” Timmy asked.

Jack hung his head. “Alas, she was mentally confused. She ended up committing suicide shortly after placing Andrew in the orphanage. I really think, though, that she was hoping he’d find his way back to his family by placing him in the village’s orphanage.”

“So all this means is that Danny—” Matt began. “Is the next Lord of the Manor?”

Timmy jumped up and grabbed Danny by the shoulders. “Hey, congratulations!”

“Don’t get so excited yet, clown boy,” Donna warned. “He’d have to leave the band and take on the responsibility of continuing the line.”

“Meaning?”

“He’d have to settle down and raise up some new heirs.”

“You mean get married?” Danny and Timmy blurted in unison.

“Exactly.”

Matt stood up. “No way. Out of the question.”

“Now listen here—“ Donna began.

“Donna, don’t you think his dreams for his own life have merit?” Debby asked.

Matt smiled at her. She didn’t notice.

“How about I grant you and your husband the right to take over after Jack’s gone?” Danny suggested to Donna.

“Out of –“ She paused. “Oh! That would be nice, I suppose.”

“End of story,” Danny stated. “Now, let’s me and the fellas get started with some sight seeing.”

“I’ll lead the way,” Debby offered. “I’m a professional tour escort. Would you like to see London?”

“Yeah! Alright!” the boys in the band cheered.

So, after a day spent exploring the manor and the Selwyns’ old house, which was now a bed and breakfast, the following morning, Debby drove the band to London, where they saw Big Ben, the Tower of London, and other famous sites. They walked down fashionable Carnaby, and ate fish and chips. Then they returned to the manor and spent the next day horseback riding.

Danny caught Donna whirling around, saying to her husband, “Someday this will all be ours! To think!”

“Ha!” Danny cried. “See, I bet now you’re glad I’m celibate!”

“Well, I, er…” Donna began, red in the face.

Jack stepped out of the manor and into the garden. “Danny, you know your friends and you are welcome to move here.”

“Oh, really? Wow!” Danny exclaimed. “Somehow, though, I think they’ll say they prefer our manor-ette by the beach.”

Two weeks later found the boys back on the Southern California beach. “It was nice to get away,” Timmy said.

“That Debby sure is pretty,” Matt drawled.

“Yeah, I guess,” Timmy responded reluctantly.

“I think we’re blessed,” Patrick said. “No matter how poor we are, we got to go to England and London and all and stay in a manor house.”

“Yeah, we are pretty blessed,” Timmy agreed. “We may not be in the money, but we’ve got so many good things in our life.”

“Well, Danny, what do you think?” Matt asked. “Are you adjusting to being Lord Sheehan’s grandson instead of just his younger pal?”

Danny lay down on the sand, staring up at the gulls. “I’m doing well with it, actually. We’ve always gotten on like family, so I guess it’s no big surprise that we are family.”

“And we’re also family,” Timmy reminded the band. “Ugh, does that mean Donna is our sister, too?”


	3. My Three Bandmates

MY THREE BANDMATES

I

Often, the Four Innocents did covers of other people’s love songs; they had even written some meaningless love songs of their own. But some songs were written about their friendship. Well, that’s about love, too! Here is one of them:

“When people see us together they know we're birds of a feather We four are all best friends and we know this never ends

We're just trying to live our own scene but people treat us mean

With each other we always want to stay and you should hear what people say

We don't think that it's a sin to stay true through thick and thin

We'd rather stick side by side though culture says to find a bride

So it's just the four of us but we don't complain or fuss

We're as happy as can be for in soulmates, each has three”

II

The Four Innocents had fallen asleep together on the sectional. Patrick was the first to awaken. Carefully, he eased himself out of the huddle, and smiled as he gazed back at his three dozing friends, snuggled together like a litter of puppies. What a cute picture it made. That gave him an idea.

He quickly went up to his studio to fetch his sketch pad. Back downstairs, he quickly outlined their sleeping forms.

Danny yawned, and Patrick shyly stuffed his notebook under his shirt. Danny blinked at him, then smiled knowingly. "Why've you got your sketch pad under---Oh, never mind."

The next evening, Patrick put the final touches on his drawing.

III

With money from a recent gig, the Four Innocents were able to afford a day of fun at Hopeland, which was Timmy's favorite place in the whole world. 

As they left that day, Timmy glanced back at the admission stalls, and the prices on the signs. "You know, the prices for annual passes aren't much more than the prices of a few days' admissions--and you get over three hundred days' admission, and free parking to boot."

"Yeah," Matt said, just to keep up his end of the conversation.

Timmy realized he wasn't getting the point. "We should get annual passes, you know."

"Too expensive," Matt replied.

Timmy addressed all his bandmates. "Fellas, I know it's expensive, but believe me, it's worth it. Just imagine the fun you three can have here. Riding the Unicorns, flying on the Pegasus or the Magic Carpet, exploring Castaway Island...Hopeland is our land. It stands for everything we stand for. Innocence and friendship and good, clean fun."

"You sure paint a pretty picture," Danny remarked. "Kind of a dreamland Hopeland."

Matt put an arm around Timmy's shoulder. "I **would** love it. Tell you what, next time we get a big gig with big pay, we can do it."

"All right!" Timmy shouted, and skipped ahead, merrily singing a song from a classic Hopewell film.

Matt, Danny, and Patrick stared after him, then glanced at each other. "He'll never grow up," Danny observed fondly.

"Neither will we," Matt said.

IV

Danny was taking a stroll down the beach, and greeted Amity and Francene when he passed by their house. They engaged him in conversation, in which Amity mentioned that her parents' anniversary was coming up soon.

"I wish we had done something really big to celebrate either the day all four of us met, or the day Matt came back, or the day we moved in together," Danny remarked.

"Maybe you didn't because you couldn't decide which day was your band's anniversary," Amity pointed out.

"True," Danny admitted. "Well, maybe by the end of this year, I'll have figured it out."

"Why wait 'til the end of this year to pick a date?" Francene wondered. "I mean, December 25th's not the actual date Jesus was born, it's just the day that was chosen to honor his birth."

Danny smiled. "I see what you mean."

Tuesday, Francene dropped by the boys' house, asking if they would like to see some of her recent artwork. Danny ardently encouraged his friends to agree.

After the Four Innocents and Francene had left, Amity entered the unlocked house and, giggling to herself, placed a cake upon the kitchen table. Then she ran back to her place, frantically interrupting Francene's show. "Fellas! You've got to get back to your house, quick!"

"You told me we didn't need to lock the door," Matt chided Danny.

Danny shrugged in a nonchalant apology.

The boys and Francene followed Amity, who pointed out the cake left on the kitchen table. "Who could have left this?" she asked in mock wonder.

"The cake fairy?" Matt guessed.

"Surprise!" Amity, Francene, and Danny cried.

"Are you in on this?" Matt asked Danny, sounding unconvincingly indignant.

"What's the occasion?" Timmy wondered.

"It's just a celebration of friendship," Amity declared.

"The girls helped me put this party together," Danny told his bandmates. "There's days to celebrate lovers, and parents, and all that, but there should be days to just celebrate friendship, too."

V

Strumming his guitar, Matt relaxed on the back porch.

"Big shot," he heard someone say. He looked up to see Ace.

"Huh?"

"You must feel like a big shot," Ace clarified. "You know, being the band's leader."

"Not really," Matt replied. "It's a lot of responsibility. For instance, the other day I had to get Danny to rearrange a date he had set that conflicted with an audition date. Now it was true I had forgotten about his date when I set up the audition, but I knew the audition was more important for all of us. So I asked him to forgive me and reschedule, even though he had first rights."

"Did he?"

"He did. Then I had to talk Patrick out of buying a mandolin. Patrick can play all kinds of instruments, and I wish he could have it, but I told him, leave the store and think about it. If days later, you still want it, you can start putting away money. But this band can't afford to buy things on impulse. As it is, the next big frivolous purchase we're planning on making is annual passes to Hopeland."

"No kidding."

"Yeah, Timmy talked us into it. And once we get the money, I won't mind. Now, Timmy, let me tell you, he's a big responsibility."

"He's a trouble maker?"

"Hell, no, just the opposite. He's a guilt tripper. Things that ordinary people wouldn't even worry about, he keeps beating himself with, like going two miles over the speed limit or finding a quarter and keeping it for yourself."

Ace raised his eyebrows. "He's out of it, man."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I never want to lose him, or Danny and Patrick, either. And I know they feel the same."

Ace snorted at Matt's open sentiment, and walked on. "Suit yourself," Matt said, though Ace was now out of hearing distance. He picked up his guitar and went back inside to join his three bandmates.


	4. Dueling Guitars

DUELING GUITARS

I

“I want you to love me, love me,” Matt sang, and Patrick joined in on the “love me, love me”, bending near to Matt’s head, as they currently shared the same microphone. “Though I cannot love you, love you.” He sang some more, then they went into an instrumental. As guitarists sometimes do, Patrick and Matt faced each other, aiming their playing at each other, rather than the audience, reveling in the joy of rock’n’roll. Towards the back of the stage, Danny was holding his tambourine up so that Timmy could beat it with a drumstick. With his other hand, Danny continued shaking his maracas. Matt turned back to Patrick. Patrick grinned. The Four Innocents’ bandleader felt his heart swell with the glow of loving friendship.

The enthusiastic cheers of the audience reminded Matt that this was not an intimate little gathering of just the four of them. Matt was happy that their zeal for playing together had spilled over the crowd. The people appreciated the camaraderie they were seeing.

“Guys, you did great,” Mr. Millard, the manager said, standing by the table the Four Innocents were sitting at at the now nearly deserted club, the Squawking Macaw. “Drinks on the house.”

“Mmm, four Pensa Colas, I guess,” Matt ordered, glancing at his bandmates for confirmation. Their choices were rather limited, given that none of them drank alcohol.

“No problem.” Mr. Millard shouted at the bartender. “Hey, Charly, four colas pronto.”

When the drinks came, the manager announced, “The Squawking Macaw is having a guitar contest, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Matt asked, in the spirit of conversation.

“Pays a crown and the prestige of the local music community.” He leaned forward. “Plus enough money to pay for a month’s rent.”

“Um¼”

“You and the bass player ought to think about it.”

Matt nodded.

“If you don’t sign up here, you can sign up at the New Haven Community College.”

Patrick had learned to drive, but he didn't like it. It scared him when he thought of the graphic accident footage they had shown him in driver's education. He would go slow to avoid a high speed wreck, but impatient drivers would beep at him and make obscene gestures, causing the sensitive boy to become even more jittery.

He didn't need to drive himself anywhere until he started his next temporary job, so he decided he wouldn't practice his skills until then. Matt had other ideas. "Patrick, I didn't get the paper this morning. I was wondering if you'd go down and get it."

"You did this on purpose!" Patrick pouted.

Matt smiled back at him in reply. Patrick moaned in dread. "Relax, the store's just up the street," Matt reassured. "And I'll come with you."

Anxiously, Patrick prayed that the drive to the store would be uneventful, and it was. "See, everything went fine," Matt said, getting into the driver's seat this time. "Come on, we're going to Baird's." 

When they arrived, Matt groaned. "Oh no, not again. They always drop by when we do!"

"No," Patrick said, shrugging. "We've been here plenty of times without the Fig Leaves being here."

"You still want to go?" Matt asked, but one look at Patrick's disappointed face, and he knew the answer. Going to Baird's was to Patrick like going to Hopeland was to Timmy.

They walked in. "Hey, the guitar playing Innocents," Oliver greeted. "You entering the local guitar contest?"

“I guess so,” Matt said. “Right, Patrick?”

Patrick nodded, a blank expression in his eyes.

“You know,” Beanie began. “The contest is for guitar players to compete on an individual basis. On your own. You'll be--" He gasped. "—Rivals!"

"Well, I don't know about that," Matt remarked.

Patrick and Matt discussed the contest on the way home, but were indecisive. Back at the beachhouse, they asked for Danny's and Timmy's opinions. "I don't know about you guys competing against each other," Timmy said, not enthused.

"Oh, come on!" Danny disagreed. "There's no need for any of us to think of it that way. We'll just have two chances at one of the Innocents beating the other local guitarists."

II

Not everyone who wanted to enter the contest could. Auditions were held to select only guitarists who were worthy in the first place. Beany and Oliver were there, giving the two Innocents the customary snide remarks as greetings.

Heading for the registration desk, Matt left Patrick with their guitar cases. Patrick saw a vending machine and wandered up to it.

Oliver accosted Matt at the table. "Hey, just saw your buddy back there ruining your chances." 

Not knowing what to make of this statement, Matt just squinted back at Oliver. He returned to their seats, where Patrick sat with a can of soda between his legs and a bag of potato chips in his hand. "It's hot in here," he remarked to his bandleader.

"Yeah, the body heat of all the kids signing up," Matt explained. "They're all sweating it out."

"Do we have to do this?"

Matt shrugged. "I dunno." Wanting some practice, he removed his guitar from its case. Two of the strings were broken. The others were off key. Needlessly, Matt started to tune one, only to have it snap almost instantly. "Darn Fig Leaves," he grumbled.

"What?" the mentally distant Patrick asked.

"So this is what Oliver meant."

"What?"

"He said you were doing something to ruin my chances."

"I didn't touch anything. I went over to get a snack."

"I know. But don't you see? Those guys want to make us rivals even if we don't think of ourselves as being such."

"Do we have to do this?" Patrick wondered again.

"I dunno," was again Matt's reply. "I tell you one thing, though. Those Fig Leaves aren't gonna give us a moment's peace."

"Then let's not," Patrick decided simply. "It's too uncomfortable in here anyway."

"Yes, sir," Matt concurred. "Let's phone Danny and Timmy and all go to Baird's when we can be reasonably sure the Fig Leaves won't be there."

That idea agreed upon, the two left the auditions, not bothering to explain to anybody where they had gone. 

Matt and Patrick had been dropped off so Timmy and Danny could use the psychedelic van. Matt found a pay phone to call home so he and Patrick could get a ride.

Danny and Timmy arrived in the van a short time later. “You didn’t stay awfully long,” Danny said, hopping out. Timmy disengaged the key and got out of the driver’s seat. “Timmy and I had barely got in the door when you called.”

“We’re quitting the contest,” Matt announced.

“What?” Danny demanded.

“The Fig Leaves are trying to play Patrick and I against each other,” Matt explained.

Danny leaned silently against the van, but Timmy protested, “You shouldn’t let them ruin things for you!”

“Well—”

Danny interrupted. “Give Matt the keys, Timmy. If they’re not signing up, I am.” He grabbed the Rowe boy’s arm. “And you’re coming with me.”

“But I don’t play guitar!” Timmy cried, as Danny dragged him towards the building.

“Why do you suppose Danny entered the contest?” Matt asked. He was at the driver’s seat.

“I dunno. Just the other day he was complaining he’d never learn the guitar,” Patrick said.

Matt’s tone of voice changed. His questions became more rhetorical. “And why did he bring Timmy with him?”

Patrick just shrugged and put his bare feet up on the dashboard.

“I’ll tell you why,” Matt answered himself. “The Partners in Crime are plotting to pull a trick on the Fig Leaves.” He switched on the van’s directional. “I’m going back there.”

They pulled up in front of the school building and walked in. “Hey, Matt, I’m going to get another orange drink,” Patrick told his bandleader.

“Okay, yeah.” Matt nodded absent-mindedly and walked off down a hallway. About two-thirds of the way down, he noticed a piece of string stretched out about six inches high across the hallway. He smirked knowingly as he stepped over it. _Danny_ _¼_

He sat down at a desk in the room at the end of the hall. Danny and Timmy, leaping over the string, bounded in a moment later. “Duck back!” Danny advised Matt. “The Fig Leaves will be coming by any second.”

They listened for the sound of running feet. They heard it, then—“Hey, guys, whatcha running for?” Patrick’s naïve voice.

Silence, then muffled giggles. “Hey, Patrick, I think your bandmates went that way,” Oliver said.

“Oh.” The other three could almost hear him nod.

Danny burst out into the open. “Patrick, wait--!” But the bass player had already taken a fall on the floor, spilling his orange soda.

The Fig Leaves laughed uproariously. “Well, little man,” Beanie taunted. “Looks like your trap meant to trap us trapped one of your own instead.”

“Boy, are you stupid!” Zack said to Patrick, as Timmy helped him up.

“Now wait a minute—” Matt began.

“You wanna run that by me again?” Danny demanded, adapting a fighter’s stance. “Don’t think I can’t take you on.”

“Danny,” Matt warned.

“Now you got orange stains all over your shirt and pants,” Bill told Patrick. “Really sharp.”

“Yeah, are you trying to make your own tie-dye?” Oliver chimed in.

“Let me knock some sense into them, Matt!” Danny pleaded.

“It’s okay, Danny.” Patrick bit his lip, trying to not let it get to him. “I’ll get over it.”

“And now, we must bid you a fond farewell,” Oliver said dramatically. “Let’s go, guys.” They marched off down the hallway and turned a corner.

“C’mon, Patrick,” Matt said, squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll all go home and you can change into a new set of clothes. Then maybe we’ll go have supper at Burger Haven.”

“I still think you should stay in the contest,” Danny argued. “If you quit, you’re just letting the Fig Leaves win.”

“And you and Patrick have shown you’re too smart to fall for them playing you off of each other,” Timmy chimed in.

“Thank you!” Patrick acknowledged with a grin.

“Oh, all right,” Matt said. “We’ll stay in. That okay with you, Patrick?” The bass player nodded. “Okay then. Are you entering the contest, Danny?”

“Are you kidding? I just said that to play a joke on the Fig Leaves.”

“That’s what I thought. By the way, what did you say to the Fig Leaves to make them run after you?”

“Shoop shoop shay do-de-oop.”

“Shoop shoop—” Matt began incredulously.

“Shay do-de-oop,” Danny completed.

“What the heck is that? The chorus to some old doowop song?”

Danny shrugged. “I just made it up. I figured the Fig Leaves wouldn’t understand it, and when they don’t understand something, they get mad.”

“And flight—namely ours—encourages pursuit,” Timmy added.

“They’re not the brightest guys,” Matt remarked.

The Four Innocents were backstage at the Squawking Macaw. Dozens of other guitarists milled about. As at the sign-up, it was hot. Patrick had already secured a chair and an orange drink and was sipping the beverage.

“You’ll be alright here?” Danny asked.

Matt nodded. “You and Timmy go find a table out front.”

“Good luck,” Danny said, clapping a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Yeah, good luck, both of you,” Timmy added.

“Thanks,” Matt said.

“’Bye,” Patrick said.

Oliver popped up uninvited, peering over Patrick’s shoulder. “Some people never learn.”

“What?” Patrick wondered.

“You and your orange sodas,” Beanie remarked, coming around front. He slapped the can, attempting to make it spill, but only a few drops came out. The can was already empty. Patrick grinned.

“Oh, don’t be disappointed,” Matt told them, revelling in the moment. “Patrick can always buy a new one for you to spill.”

“Where’s the vending machine?” Oliver asked.

“Right at the back entrance,” Patrick replied.

The two Fig Leaves walked off. “Man, you shouldn’t have told them that,” Matt said.

“Why not? They’d just remember themselves anyway.”

“Well, yeah, probably.”

The Fig Leaves came back with a can of Pensa Cola. “Guys, it isn’t funny when we know what you’re gonna do,” Matt pointed out.

Patrick stood up. Beanie, who was holding the soda, tried to reach over his head, but Oliver, realizing Beanie was shorter, grabbed the can and poured it onto Patrick’s head. Patrick avoided the full measure of it by stepping out of the way.

“Guys, really, it isn’t funny,” Matt argued.

“We think it is,” Oliver said with a laugh. As he and Beanie walked away, Oliver remarked, “He is so dumb telling us where the vending machine is.”

“Let’s get you mopped up,” Matt said gently to his bass player. He gestured with his head in the direction of the men’s room.

“You don’t think I have to go home?” Patrick asked.

“We’ll dry your hair with the paper towels. C’mon. You know, Patrick,” he continued as they walked down to the restroom. “You’re pretty brave for not crying.”

“I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.”

“Yeah, they’re not worth it.”

Patrick wasn’t the first guitarist to go on stage, but he was the first of the Innocents. He played a simple acoustic piece in psuedo-classical style. Matt watched on from the side of the stage. Patrick’s playing was excellent, as always, but weren’t those tears streaming down from his eyes? His emotions must have finally caught up to him. Matt frowned in concern; he hoped the Fig Leaves’ cruelty wouldn’t cause Patrick to slip.

Patrick ended his number without a noticeable flaw. As he returned to the backstage area, Matt grabbed his arm. “You okay?”

Patrick sniffed. “Yeah, Matt, I’m fine,” he replied, sounding distracted.

Matt nodded. “You did good.”

“I think I’ll go get myself a soda.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea—”

“What’s it matter now? I’m done with my act.”

“Okay, buddy,” Matt said understandingly.

In the club area of the Squawking Macaw, Danny and Timmy were sitting at a round table, joined by next door neighbor Francene, who had a hard drink in her hand. “It must be hot back there,” she observed.

“Why’s that?” Danny asked.

“Patrick looked a little wet. Like he’d been sweating.”

“Either that, or the Fig Leaves dumped soda on him,” Timmy guessed.

They watched other guitarists. Francene made comments like, “C’mon, honey, you can do it!” and “That fella is cute!”

Matt came on, dressed in snug, dark jeans. He was wearing a black T-shirt with a picture of an Indian shield on it, and a fringed leather vest. “Matt looks hot!” Francene exclaimed. Embarrassed and bemused by her comment, Timmy and Danny looked at her, glanced at each other, then stared back at her. “What, you don’t think so? I guess those rumors about the four of you being gay aren’t true after all, huh? Ha! Say, is Matt an Indian?”

“He’s part Apache, yes,” Danny answered.

“And Hispanic?”

“A little.”

“¡Viva los indios!” Francene cried. Danny and Timmy winced at her volume. She asked the waitress for another drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Danny questioned.

“I’ve only had two, you booper.”

Matt was playing electric guitar. The psychedelic riffs spoke of angst more clearly than any song with words. He mainly kept his eyes focused above the crowd, but near the end, his view settled on Danny and Timmy. He noticed Francene and winked at her. She let out a shrill teenybopper scream.

“Francene, _please_!” Timmy cried in exasperation.

Matt and Patrick were standing backstage. “Francene was out there—did you see her?” Matt wondered.

“Yeah.”

“She was getting blasted. It’s a good thing she’s just our friend.”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, she don’t mean anything when she flirts. I thought she’d be in love with Timmy, but—”

“When?”

“That time she saw him naked.”

“Oh.”

“But she didn’t chase him. Not really.”

Oliver and all three of the other Fig Leaves popped up. “Say, you hear that girl scream in horror when you caught her eye?”

“Shhh!” Matt hushed. “They’re about to announce the winner. Be ready, Patrick.”

“It’s not me,” Patrick said simply, over the announcements the host, Beatnik Bob, was making.

“It’s gotta be you—”

“Shhh!” cried out all four Fig Leaves.

Beatnik Bob was remarking about how all the guitarists featured tonight were fantastic. “But there can only be one king of guitar, and that winner is¼Matt Winward!”

“Congratulations, Matt!” Patrick exclaimed.

No response. Matt was a zombie with his mouth agape.

“Matt! Get out there!” Patrick insisted, pushing Matt forward. Matt stumbled, then came to his senses. He walked up to the host. A pretty lady placed a crown upon his head. Timmy and Danny rushed the stage. Patrick stood by on the sidelines, until Matt gestured with his hand for him to come on over.

A photographer—for the club or a local paper—took a few pictures. “Oh, I wish Amity were here,” Francene fretted.

After hanging out at the Squawking Macaw club a while longer, the boys decided it was time to go home. “Timmy’s driving Francene home because she’s too drunk,” Danny said to Matt. “I’m going, too, in case she goes crazy on him.”

“Yeah, okay, Patrick and me will bring the van home.”

Timmy came by, escorting Francene. “Hey, Matt, you look great!” she shouted.

“Yeah, whatever,” Matt said cheerfully.

The two halves of the Four Innocents parted ways, Matt holding the key to the van. “Matt, can I drive?” Patrick asked timidly.

“Sure you can, buddy. You ever drive at night before?”

“No.”

“You can handle it.” They got in the van.

A light rain fell, drops painting the windshield. Matt and Patrick stared out the window for a couple of minutes. “You can drive in the rain, right?” Matt wondered anxiously. “It’s a light drizzle, really.”

“I’ve got to learn sometime.”

“I don’t believe I won,” Matt said, sitting in the van with Patrick. The Four Innocents’ bandleader fingered his cardboard crown. “Look at this thing—it’s like something kids get at a fast food joint.”

“I like it,” Patrick told him. “You can wear it to lunch tomorrow.”

“You deserved the title; you really did. I dunno why they picked me.”

“Did you ever think maybe it’s ‘cause you’re good?”

Matt shook his head self-effacingly. “Me, no.”

Patrick shoved Matt’s shoulder forcefully, and he bumped against the door and window. “Now, why’d you do that for?”

“Matt, you just won a big contest! You’ve got to be good!”

Matt looked at him, a doleful expression on his face. “Maybe.”

“Allow yourself to be happy.” Patrick stuck out his lower lip. “I _want_ to see you happy.”

Matt smiled. “I’m thrilled, Patrick, really. I just don’t know what to make of this honor. I didn’t even have any hope of winning—I thought you would win.”

“Matt, I feel like a winner ‘cause you won. We’re all on the same team.”

Matt stared at his bandmate.

“What?” Patrick asked in confusion.

His bandleader lifted a hand to briefly caress Patrick’s chin. “You are so wise.”

“Matt, no—”

“I mean it!” Matt insisted. “I hear what people like the Fig Leaves are saying about you, but they’re wrong. You’re not dumb at all. You’re very, very wise and they’re just jealous.”

Patrick blushed and looked down at his feet. “Allow yourself to be happy about it,” Matt advised. “C’mon, let’s get home.”


	5. A Drummer's Dilemma

A DRUMMER'S DILEMMA

I

Sunday evening, Saint Paul's was having a special free concert, and all members and their guests were encouraged to come. The Four Innocents opted to show up to watch the Habakkuks, a Christian band who performed pop-like songs, with Bible oriented messages.

"This is both a special and a sad night for us," the lead singer paused to say between numbers. "This is the last night that performing with us will be Jerome Walters, our drummer for the past three years. We're parting on good terms, of course. He just feels it’s time to move on to the next phase of his life, and we wish him well wherever God leads him. Jerome, why don't you stand up? Let's hear it for Jerome."

The audience applauded, and Jerome blushed as he quickly bowed, hastily sitting back down on his drum stool.

"Any local drummers are welcome to audition," the lead singer continued. "We're taking a break from touring, so we'll be around the next few weeks. Just see Pastor Sherwood if you need to get in contact with us."

After the service, many people lingered to converse with each other. Jack Alden, a deacon at St. Paul's, accosted the Four Innocents. "Say, Timmy, why don't you try out to be the new drummer?"

"No way--I mean, I can't sir. My place is with these guys."

"Well, I wasn't suggesting you turn your back on them." A peer of Alden's called to him, waving. The deacon waved back. "It's something to think about anyway," he said before leaving. He went to talk to the acquaintance who had signaled him.

"Anyone should know better than to try to break up the Four Innocents," Danny remarked emphatically.

"Timmy says what Mr. Alden said isn't bugging him," Matt remarked to Danny as they settled down for the night. 

"Yeah, I was worried it might, knowing how he reacts about those kind of things."

"I hope he's right, though, about it not bugging him, I mean, deep down."

"Well, how was he acting when you last saw him?"

"Oh, he was just downstairs with Patrick, watching TV." Matt was quiet for a moment. "Now Mr. Alden is a dedicated Christian and a good man and all that, but he's obsessed with appearances, and putting on ritual shows of praise and adoration and stuff. Like Timmy, he frets over the little rules. And I hate to say this, but sometimes he seems to want to force his way of life upon others."

II

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Timmy asked, stepping into the church office. He had received a call earlier from the secretary, saying that Mr. Alden had wanted to meet with him--just him, no mention of his three bandmates was made. Timmy had a feeling what this was going to be about, but to be polite, he showed up anyway.

"Timmy, sit down," Mr. Alden said in a fatherly tone. "I know your first response to the idea of joining the Habakkuks is no. No, I can't do this. No, I'm with a band already."

Timmy nodded. "Right."

"But let me point out the members of the Habakkuks are all good, Christian people that will also be easy to befriend and get along with. They don't ego trip, do drugs, or fool around."

"Well, neither do we."

"And that's good. But with the Habakkuks, you will also be using your talent to witness about the Lord."

Timmy blinked. "The Four Innocents isn't encouraging kids to go astray, you know."

"Yes, but you are a secular band playing rock'n'roll. And you know how many of us--although I realize there are many other members who are acceptant of it--but many of us here at St. Paul's feel that rock'n'roll in itself is evil and a bad influence on today's youth."

"I'm aware that certain bands misuse it, just like anything can be misused," Timmy said. "But I don't believe any music in itself is evil--certain songs can have risqué lyrics, the performers may provide bad examples by the way they live, and stuff like that. But like I said, we sing clean songs and live clean lives.”

“At least, with the Habakkuks, you’ll be spreading Biblical messages. All you do now is extol the virtues of one girlfriend over another—and you boys don’t even have girlfriends.”

“Just because we don't pepper our songs with messages from the Bible doesn't mean we can't also be used for God's purposes! Some have the gift of preaching, and some preach through song, but others, like us--our gift is entertaining, and that's valid, too. It makes people happy. Only for a while, I know that, but still, it's using our talents to brighten people's lives."

Alden clasped his hands on his desk and sighed heavily. "Well, Timmy--"

“I’m sorry, Deacon Alden, but my mind’s mind up,” Timmy said resolutely. “I’m staying with my bandmates.”

The man nodded. “Ah, yes, your three bandmates. The four of you are all celibate.”

“Yes,” Timmy said warily. “We’ve already discussed celibacy in the past and agreed it’s okay.”

“Yes, but people talk, Timmy. And sometimes they wonder about you—what is the true nature of your relationship.”

“We’re not gay.” St. Paul’s stand on homosexuality was that the Bible forbid it.

“Yes, but I perhaps wonder if you yourself don’t understand the full nature of your relationship.”

“We’re not lovers. I comprehend homosexual sex even less than I do heterosexual.”

“Yes, but does not the Bible say to avoid all appearances of evil?”

Timmy raised an eyebrow. “That means you should avoid anything that appears evil to you. Even Jesus Himself appeared evil to the Pharisees.”

Deacon Alden continued on without even his customary nod. “Timmy, I’ve been doing some research into Christian celibacy.”

“St. Paul was celibate,” Timmy pointed out.

“So it seems.”

“So was Jesus.”

“Of course. But Christians who dedicate their lives to celibacy do it to free up their lives for God, so they have no family to worry about besides. They don’t do it so they can cuddle up with three friends and romp on the beach like schoolchildren.”

Timmy was incredulous. “Are you saying I chose celibacy for the wrong reasons? I should’ve chose it to be married to God, not because I love innocence and don’t comprehend sex?”

“Timmy, love innocence all you want. But your life should be dedicated to God first, not to your friends. You should be able to leave them if it is His will.”

Timmy half rose from his seat. “I can’t—I mean—He wouldn’t ask me to do that. Not—not anymore than he’d ask you to leave Laura.”

Alden gestured for Timmy to sit down. “Just think about it. That’s all.”

Danny and Patrick stood waiting for Matt when he walked in the front door. “What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing their concerned faces.

“Timmy holed himself up in the guest room,” Danny reported. “He’s been in there practically all day ever since he came home from some meeting with Deacon Alden.”

“Yeah,” Patrick confirmed in a hushed tone.

Matt sighed. “Deacon Alden. No doubt poisoned Timmy’s mind again.”

“But, Matt—” Patrick began to chide.

“Well, he does! Every time I think I got Timmy’s mind stabilized, Deacon Alden tells him something ‘thought provoking’.” Matt turned to the guest room door and rapped upon it. “Timmy, get out here _now_!”

He heard Timmy sigh and rise from the bed. “Okay, Matt.”

The troubled drummer opened the door and the two “Guilt Trippers” stood eye to reddened eye. “You’ve been crying,” Matt observed solemnly.

“Yeah.” Timmy sat down on the psychiatrist couch.

“What he put you on this time? That you should only sing hymns of praise and not angst-ridden rock ballads?”

“Not exactly.”

“That you should be fruitful and multiply?”

“Wouldn’t he get on _all_ our cases about that, though?” Danny asked quickly.

“He says it’s okay to be celibate,” Timmy explained. “But I’m celibate for the wrong reasons. I should only be celibate so that I won’t be tied down to someone if I get the call to do His work elsewhere.”

“Oh, I see where this is leading to,” Matt said knowingly. “You should be totally independent of human beings. You should be married to God.”

“Right. And he seems to think God is calling me to be the new drummer for the Habakkuks.” Timmy looked down at the floor. “Guys, I don’t want to leave you—”

“Then don’t!” Danny snapped.

“But he made it sound as if I were placing you above God, and even I know I can’t do that.”

“Timmy, the fact that you’re even pondering leaving us for God’s sake proves everything,” Danny argued.

“I love you guys more than I love life itself,” Timmy whispered. “I love you so much sometimes it scares me.”

“Timmy, you may think God is telling you to leave us,” Matt began. “But every voice that comes into your head claiming to be God isn’t necessarily Him. Sometimes, I think a devil has been sent to torment you.”

“Yeah,” Danny jumped in. “Matt and I just heard on the news this morning about some cat in Redondo Beach killed his wife and baby daughter because supposedly he heard God’s voice telling him to do so. But you know no way that was God. That was a devil or his own insanity. If you’d really listen instead of getting your mind all jumbled up and going about in circles, you’d see how ridiculous you’re being.”

Timmy smiled faintly. He didn’t mind being called ridiculous at times like these. It helped to know the guilty accusations may just all be a lot of nonsense. “Patrick?”

“Huh?”

“What do you think?”

Patrick sat down by Timmy’s feet. “You may let me go,” he said, clutching his friend’s leg. “But I’ll never let you go.”

“That’s right, Timmy!” Danny exclaimed. “We’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“Do you really think you’ll be happier with the Habakkuks?” Matt asked.

“No way,” Timmy replied. Patrick was still clutching his leg. “They’re all family men to the extreme. I’m liable to get an upset stomach being the only virgin celibate around.”

“Then—”

“But it’s not about _my_ happiness, Matt,” Timmy interrupted. “It’s about pleasing God.”

“Like I said, you go about in circles with these things,” Danny commented. “Just as you think you’ve got things solved, you go on a ‘Am I obeying God enough?’ trip.”

“But God deserves to be placed above us. He’s the one who gave us our friendship in the first place, Who created friendship¼”

“Then maybe He won’t be happy if you give that friendship up,” Danny pointed out triumphantly.

“Ye-ah,” Timmy said hesitantly.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Matt declared. “Why don’t we pray? We’ll join hands.” He placed a hand out, and the others, including Timmy, lay one of their hands atop. “Dear Lord, give Timmy peace and clarity of mind. Let him decide through true conviction and not on some guilty whim.”

As sleep overcame him, Timmy’s mind entered a dream. In it, he saw two puppies—a Golden Retriever and an Irish Setter. They were playing in a cardboard box. When they tired of play, they would sleep, cuddled together for warmth.

Then a man came. He looked like Deacon Alden. He picked up the Irish Setter and liked what he saw. He paid for the puppy and got into a truck and drove away.

Timmy saw the Golden Retriever puppy alone in the box. The little dog whimpered, then let out the most plaintive howl Timmy had ever heard.

Timmy awoke from the dream feeling profoundly sad. He sat up in bed, then got up, looking at his bandmates. Maybe the puppy ended up okay, he thought. Maybe it, too, got adopted. Or maybe it made some new puppy friends, Timmy rationalized as he crawled back into bed. A Southwestern mutt and an English bulldog..or maybe one of those little high-strung yappy dogs. He smiled, trying to think of what Danny would be if he were a dog. In the middle of these musings, he fell back asleep.

He had another dream. Danny was on trial. The charges were soliciting drugs and molesting young women and children in St. Francis Park. “If you just ask my Partner in Crime—I mean, Fun—you’ll see I was—we were—just pulling innocent pranks. Buying kids stuff and giving girls flowers.”

“And this partner of yours--?” began the judge.

“Timothy Alan Rowe, sir.”

“Is Mr. Rowe in the courtroom?” the judge asked.

Silence reigned supreme.

“I’m afraid then, I have no choice but to declare you guilty. Your sentence is you will have to settle down and become a family man.”

Timmy awoke, bemused this time. _Okay, so where was I? Off in Africa, being a missionary? Whoever heard of sentencing a guy to marriage anyhow?_

He got up, had a drink of water. He looked out the window for a few minutes. Then he tried getting back to sleep. It wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be.

And he had a third dream.

He was in the middle of the ocean during a tempest, drowning. Matt grabbed hold of his hand. Timmy jerked his hand away, fearful of pulling his friend down with him. Matt seized his hand once again and pulled him back to the surface. “We stick together, Timmy!” he yelled over the wind and the rain. He wanted to say more, but a wave of salt water hit him in the face.

A ship was nearby, but no one took notice of their plight. So Matt and Timmy sunk into the depths of the sea and drowned.

“Are you going to the audition?” Danny asked.

Distracted by his own thoughts, Timmy just sat at the kitchen table and stared blankly ahead.

“He could go,” Patrick said generously. “He might not be what they’re looking for.”

“Timmy, you know I hate to pull rank as bandleader,” Matt began, sitting down on Timmy’s right. “But if you stay with us, I am forbidding you from ever talking to Deacon Alden again—except for good morning, good day, or goodbye. Timmy—Tim— _are you even listening to me?_ ”

“I heard you, Matt,” Timmy said listlessly.

Matt sighed audibly. “Man, I hate it when he gets like this.”

Timmy stopped staring ahead and actually looked at his bandleader. “Matt, it’s not like Deacon Alden is a bad person, or a hypocrite. He sincerely believes that what he says is right.”

“I know that,” Matt acknowledged. “And the news you see on TV is true, but I still don’t want you watching it.”

“But what if what Deacon Alden says is true?”

“I doubt it, man. I bet if you were to survey the whole congregation, the only ones to feel Deacon Alden’s way would be him and maybe you.”

“That’s it!” Danny exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Why don’t we survey three people—besides us? One of Timmy’s choosing, one Deacon Alden might choose, and one we choose. Then they’ll present their opinions to Timmy.”

“I’m not obligated to go by that judgment, am I?” Timmy asked worriedly.

“No, of course not, but maybe they’ll present reason into the chaos of your conscience. And since those three people aren’t us, you can’t dismiss them by saying they’re just saying what they’re saying to keep you in the group.”

They gathered on the back porch, which looked out to sea. A trim brunette woman wearing a modest, flowery dress stepped on to the planks. “Hello, Timmy,” she greeted in a voice that was like the ringing of bells—cathedral bells or telephone bells, Timmy wasn’t sure. 

“Deacon Alden picked out his wife?” he wondered.

“No, but we thought he would,” Danny answered. “We didn’t want him to actually hear about the survey, you see.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Laura Alden announced cheerily.

Timmy saw Matt and Patrick walk up, Francene between them. “Francene, I didn’t even know you were a Christian,” Timmy said to his hippie neighbor.

“I’m not—I mean, I have a Protestant heritage, if that counts for anything.”

“We picked Francene because she tells it like it is,” Matt explained.

Timmy glanced over at his choice, a member of St. Paul’s congregation. Ricky Wendell was an African-American in his early teens. He wore scholarly glasses and was very thoughtful and philosophical, which was why Timmy had chosen him. He was sitting in a chair while Francene and Mrs. Alden leaned on the porch railing.

“Okay, everyone,” Matt said to call the meeting to order. “You’ve all probably heard a little about Timmy’s problem. Deacon Alden seems to think he’s not putting God first by electing to stay with us instead of joining some gospel-oriented pop band.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Timmy broke in.

“Yeah, but they’ve already been filled in,” Matt argued. “You did fill in Ricky, didn’t you?”

Timmy nodded. “Yeah.”

“I understand completely,” Ricky said.

“Then what do you think?” Matt asked.

Ricky rested his hand on his fist and just thought. He must have maintained that position for a minute or two. Birds chirped, and the sun moved across the sky. Mrs. Alden stifled a yawn. Finally, Ricky spoke. “Timmy, you _think_ too much!”

The drummer blinked. “That’s all?”

“Yeah, that’s all. Mister, you just analyze things that don’t need to be studied in minute detail.”

“I think he means you take things too literally,” Patrick offered.

“You try to get every nuance out of a verse instead of taking it at face value,” Danny added.

“Let’s move on to Francene,” Matt suggested.

“Okay, Timmy,” Francene began. “I may not be a Christian in the true sense, but I, and everyone I know, can tell you have a heart for God. Not just for your friends. You’re really intent on doing His will.”

“You really think so?” Timmy asked timidly.

“Yeah. It’s refreshing to see someone so focused on God and love instead of money.”

“Now, Mrs. Alden,” said Danny. “You play a crucial role here. Think carefully about what to say.”

“Oh, I have thought about it, Danny,” she replied benignly. “And I know sometimes my husband doesn’t think about what he says and its consequences. Don’t tell him I said this, but sometimes I think he likes to hear himself talk. Timmy, let me ask you something—have you—either orally or in written form—made a vow or commitment to your friends?”

“We pledged our love and commitment to each other, yes.”

“Then I would say that that promise, which you made in God’s sight knowingly or unknowingly—for He is everywhere—obligates you to stay with your bandmates.” She adjusted her hairdo. “As much as my husband is obligated to stay with me.”

Timmy stared at her a moment, looking incredulous. Then he swept her off her feet in a bear hug, whooping and exclaiming, “I love you, Mrs. Alden!”

She was taken aback, but after a few seconds chuckled and chided, “Now, Timmy, I’m a married woman!”

Matt, Danny, and Patrick gathered around, while Ricky and Francene elected to remain where they were. “Does this mean you’re staying?” Patrick asked.

“Come heck or high water,” Timmy vowed. He hugged Patrick, then Danny.

Matt took the opportunity while hugging his drummer to whisper in his ear. “Don’t scare us like that again.”

“Well, I better be going now,” Francene said to excuse herself.

“Ricky, Mrs. Alden, you want cupcakes or something?” Danny offered. “We got them the other day at half price. So they’re probably old, but—“

“I’ll have one!” Ricky answered.

“I’m dieting this week; I better not,” Laura Alden replied. “But thanks, boys.”

Ricky left as soon as the cupcake was safely in his hands. It was just the four of them again.

“Well, that was a scare,” Patrick confessed in retrospect.

“Guys, I didn’t really want to leave,” Timmy explained. “You know that. It’s just that, well, God has to come first.”

“God doesn’t often ask us to betray our loved ones,” Danny commented. “It’s like with Abraham—He went so far as to see if Abraham would sacrifice his son, but then he stopped him from doing so.”

“I feel a lot better now,” Timmy admitted. “Let’s go ‘romp on the beach like schoolchildren’.”

Patrick and Danny happily bounded after him, but Matt remained a moment on the porch. He sighed. Timmy was okay for now, but for how long? Mrs. Alden had said the magic words to snap him out of his guilty daze, but what would the solution require next time? What would the next big dilemma be?

 _No use worrying about something I can’t control_ , Matt thought. “Wait for me, fellas!” he called, and leaped out onto the beach.


	6. Through the Pages of a Girlie Magazine

THROUGH THE PAGES OF A GIRLIE MAGAZINE

Tossing and turning, Matt couldn’t get to sleep. The urges and desires, so vague yet real, would not let him slumber until he gave his mind fully over to entertaining them. Yet he fought against doing so, for when he let them win, he always felt so dirty. So sinful.

He got up, left the room, got a drink of water. He stepped out on the porch and felt the cool night air. _Lord, why do you let us have these urges, yet forbid them? It seems I can’t win._

He went back into the bathroom and doused his face with cold water.

Returning to bed, he tried to create an arrangement in his head, one for the song the band had just written. But she kept returning. Delilah. The older woman. Intent on “making him a man.” And he imagined the morning would bring no guilt.

“It is better to marry than to burn.”

Always he worried about that Bible verse. Did the lust he felt at bedtime obligate him to seek a wife? He fantasized about losing his virginity, but when he really thought about it, when it came down to it, these dreams would be nightmares if they came true. Sex was not what he wanted out of life. He wanted innocence; he wanted to play with his bandmates and enjoy the simple pleasures. And was getting married any guarantee you would never have a taboo fantasy again? Matt doubted it. He had heard of couples acting out elaborate fantasies to spice up their love life.

Sometimes the longings would leave him alone for days. Other times, they bothered him several nights on end. Matt consoled himself with the fact that he was, in reality, not likely to succumb to temptation. He had never dated a girl. He had never kissed a girl, not in the romantic sense, that is. Kissed his mom and sisters, maybe. So there was little chance of him committing the act of fornication.

As he walked along the beach, Matt was feeling good, but cautious. He had been free of sexual fantasies the last few nights. But late this morning, Danny had been watching some dumb old soap opera just for laughs. Matt, looking on, had felt a thrill of arousal when a woman discovered her husband with a mistress. _I’ll have a hard time tonight, that’s for sure._

He passed by Mr. Garvey’s porch. Ace was sitting on the sand, looking at a girlie magazine. Matt, almost instinctively, shook his head in scorn.

Ace looked up in time to catch the gesture. “You really ought to look through one of these sometime. It could only do you good.”

“Yeah, sure. Uh-huh.”

“You know, educate you.” He stood up. “Here, look at this month’s centerfold.”

Matt turned his head away. “Stop it, Ace. Really.”

He waited until Ace said, “Okay.” Thinking it was safe to open his eyes, he did so, only to have Ace thrust a picture of a naked woman in his face.

Matt was taken aback for a moment. The woman was beautiful. And somehow, despite her posing unclothed for the camera, her big doe eyes and long lashes made her look, well, innocent.

Matt shoved the magazine aside. “C’mon, Ace, you’ve had your fun.”

Ace grinned. “You _liked_ her. Admit it. For a second there, you liked what you saw.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than to bother me?” Matt turned around and walked back in the direction he had come, leaving Ace laughing.

That night, Matt was lulled to sleep with thoughts of naked women.

The Four Innocents strolled in back of waterfront homes. 

“Tell me why again,” Timmy began. “Why we’re going to a party thrown by _Ace_ over at Mr. _Garvey’s_ place?”

“’Cause Mr. Garvey is out of town,” Danny offered helpfully.

“Ace said we may get a chance to play,” Matt answered truthfully.

“Uh huh,” Timmy said doubtfully. “Look, it’s just that going to a party thrown by Ace and held over at our landlord’s place is as bad as going to a party thrown by the Fig Leaves at a local strip club.”

“Well, if people start taking off their clothes, we can go home.”

“I’m going home if they start smoking grass,” Patrick declared.

“I’m coming with you,” Timmy remarked.

“Look, we don’t have to stay the whole time,” Matt brought up. “Let’s just check it out, okay?”

“Bring it on!” Danny exclaimed bravely.

Matt had just come out from the bathroom, and he passed Ace’s bedroom. The door was open, and Matt peeked in. There were centerfolds pinned up on the walls everywhere. Matt instinctively threw his hand over his eyes, then lowered them. He looked again, closed his eyes again. Opened them again, and stepped in to stare.

“Matt!” Danny cried. Patrick and Timmy were standing behind him.

Matt yelped.

“Ha ha, I caught you!” Ace exclaimed in triumph.

“I won’t do it again, I swear,” Matt babbled nervously.

“Sure” Ace smirked.

“Matt!” Patrick’s exclamation sounded almost like a cry.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Pat,” Timmy said. “These things happen. It doesn’t mean Matt’s gonna get married or sleep with a girl or anything.”

Danny was lying on the hammock the next day. Patrick came out, his guitar slung behind his back. “So, um, what do you think about, uh, what went on last night?” the naïve blond boy asked.

“I guess we’re just more celibate than Matt and Timmy are,” Danny remarked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Patrick told him.

“What do you mean?”

“Celibacy’s just easier for us. Because of our undeveloped..underdeveloped bio-logy.”

“Yeah?”

“They have to face a lot more hormonals. A lot more temptation. Yet they still have the willpower to choose celibacy.”

“Oh, I see what you’re saying. In a way, they’re stronger than us.”

Later that day, Matt and Danny were strolling along the beach.

“It’s okay,” Matt said, as Danny trotted to keep up with the tall young man’s long strides. “I don’t plan on doing that regularly, you know.”

“I know,” Danny replied, nearly tripping on a rock. “We all..stumble..sometimes. Like Timmy did when he kissed Beatrix. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You learned your lesson?” Matt wondered. “You’re not the one who looked at the pinups!”

“Yeah, but I learned not to freak out about it like I did with Timmy.”

“Did I tell you about the time Patrick hired a prostitute?”  
Danny stopped, his eyes widening. “WHAT?”

“Just kidding.”

Danny shoved him. “Oh, cut it out!”

“There’s one thing I’ve learned,” Matt opined. “It may be Ace who set me up, but, well, we’re our own worst enemies. The world tries to corrupt us and destroy our innocence, and sometimes we just go along for the ride.”


End file.
